I recently wrote at length about banned photography; how certain places, often religious sites here in Asia, ban photography outright, but also how that lends more of a mystique to certain places; today I crossed that line, by leaps and bounds. I’m in Sri Lanka, more specifically on Nainativu, one of the Jaffna islands in the far north, one of the Tamil strongholds (in fact, yesterday I visited the childhood village of Vellupillai Prabhakaran), where the dominant religion is Hinduism. It’s not a long way from Jaffna city, which isn’t exactly the centre of civilization (anymore). An hours worth of busdriving takes you from low lying city, dotted with clutches of palm trees, temples, churches, and ruins; (the civil war was fierce here), and out across causeways to white sandy islands, covered in palm trees, inhabited by countless cows, and dotted with outrageously multicoloured temples. Out here, where government oversight seems too troublesome to bother with, where people just look after themselves, I found myself at noon in Kurikadduwan (I get to sleep in every day), staring at a jetty, a small wooden boat and a group of Tamils, in lifejackets, looking seasick before they had even climbed into the boat, rocking along on turquoise water under a clear blue sky as well as a scorching hot sun. Reaching my destination after a short, but deafening half hour ride, I disembarked on a long, clean, and beautiful stone jetty, worthy of any rich mediterranean city. Nainativu is notable (saying “famous” would be outrageous out here), for having a Buddhist and a Hindu point of pilgrimage both, this far to the north in Sri Lanka. Unusually for me, I skipped an ice cream, and headed towards a cacophony (usually means the local Hindu temple is performing poya, offerings to a god, usually happens several times per day, to the sound of deafening bells in multitudes); what I found instead, was so much more. Sri Lankan hindu temples are outrageously colorful, often adorned with figures from tales and legends, both friendly and scary. In front of the temple, dedicated to the naga goddes Meenakshi, a consort of Shiva, is a massive gopuram, sort of like a wedge with steps, pointy end up, also covered with figures, painted in bright colours and visible from far away. Inside, the temple was crammed full of people, all in the midst of praying; while holy men were busy uncovering a large idol (which I assume was of Meenakshi), with wooden poles underneath for four bearers. Then, just as I had entered the temple and looked around, a priest used a conch as a horn, and blew a long, deep, and sombre note. Drums started banging, wooden torches on fire were waved around, flowers petals were thrown in the air covering the idol; and then this whole ceremony turned into a procession, walking around the temple (they’re usually large and rectangular, with the main altar in the centre), praying loudly, beating the drums harder and harder. Making full circle, through the throng of worshippers, women in saris, men topless, the idol was packed away, and powder was handed out to worshippers, standing in surprisingly orderly lines, to make bindis. After the ceremony was over, everybody were handed banana leaves, after which priests came around, ladling a thick goopy rice concoction. At which point, the celebration turned into a feast; hundreds of merry people, on a small strip of of sandy island, at the far edge of the country, trying to hear each other over children playing, roaring laughter, and teenagers trying to be somewhere between coy, and the party centre of the island.
Zoom Info
I recently wrote at length about banned photography; how certain places, often religious sites here in Asia, ban photography outright, but also how that lends more of a mystique to certain places; today I crossed that line, by leaps and bounds. I’m in Sri Lanka, more specifically on Nainativu, one of the Jaffna islands in the far north, one of the Tamil strongholds (in fact, yesterday I visited the childhood village of Vellupillai Prabhakaran), where the dominant religion is Hinduism. It’s not a long way from Jaffna city, which isn’t exactly the centre of civilization (anymore). An hours worth of busdriving takes you from low lying city, dotted with clutches of palm trees, temples, churches, and ruins; (the civil war was fierce here), and out across causeways to white sandy islands, covered in palm trees, inhabited by countless cows, and dotted with outrageously multicoloured temples. Out here, where government oversight seems too troublesome to bother with, where people just look after themselves, I found myself at noon in Kurikadduwan (I get to sleep in every day), staring at a jetty, a small wooden boat and a group of Tamils, in lifejackets, looking seasick before they had even climbed into the boat, rocking along on turquoise water under a clear blue sky as well as a scorching hot sun. Reaching my destination after a short, but deafening half hour ride, I disembarked on a long, clean, and beautiful stone jetty, worthy of any rich mediterranean city. Nainativu is notable (saying “famous” would be outrageous out here), for having a Buddhist and a Hindu point of pilgrimage both, this far to the north in Sri Lanka. Unusually for me, I skipped an ice cream, and headed towards a cacophony (usually means the local Hindu temple is performing poya, offerings to a god, usually happens several times per day, to the sound of deafening bells in multitudes); what I found instead, was so much more. Sri Lankan hindu temples are outrageously colorful, often adorned with figures from tales and legends, both friendly and scary. In front of the temple, dedicated to the naga goddes Meenakshi, a consort of Shiva, is a massive gopuram, sort of like a wedge with steps, pointy end up, also covered with figures, painted in bright colours and visible from far away. Inside, the temple was crammed full of people, all in the midst of praying; while holy men were busy uncovering a large idol (which I assume was of Meenakshi), with wooden poles underneath for four bearers. Then, just as I had entered the temple and looked around, a priest used a conch as a horn, and blew a long, deep, and sombre note. Drums started banging, wooden torches on fire were waved around, flowers petals were thrown in the air covering the idol; and then this whole ceremony turned into a procession, walking around the temple (they’re usually large and rectangular, with the main altar in the centre), praying loudly, beating the drums harder and harder. Making full circle, through the throng of worshippers, women in saris, men topless, the idol was packed away, and powder was handed out to worshippers, standing in surprisingly orderly lines, to make bindis. After the ceremony was over, everybody were handed banana leaves, after which priests came around, ladling a thick goopy rice concoction. At which point, the celebration turned into a feast; hundreds of merry people, on a small strip of of sandy island, at the far edge of the country, trying to hear each other over children playing, roaring laughter, and teenagers trying to be somewhere between coy, and the party centre of the island.
Zoom Info
I recently wrote at length about banned photography; how certain places, often religious sites here in Asia, ban photography outright, but also how that lends more of a mystique to certain places; today I crossed that line, by leaps and bounds. I’m in Sri Lanka, more specifically on Nainativu, one of the Jaffna islands in the far north, one of the Tamil strongholds (in fact, yesterday I visited the childhood village of Vellupillai Prabhakaran), where the dominant religion is Hinduism. It’s not a long way from Jaffna city, which isn’t exactly the centre of civilization (anymore). An hours worth of busdriving takes you from low lying city, dotted with clutches of palm trees, temples, churches, and ruins; (the civil war was fierce here), and out across causeways to white sandy islands, covered in palm trees, inhabited by countless cows, and dotted with outrageously multicoloured temples. Out here, where government oversight seems too troublesome to bother with, where people just look after themselves, I found myself at noon in Kurikadduwan (I get to sleep in every day), staring at a jetty, a small wooden boat and a group of Tamils, in lifejackets, looking seasick before they had even climbed into the boat, rocking along on turquoise water under a clear blue sky as well as a scorching hot sun. Reaching my destination after a short, but deafening half hour ride, I disembarked on a long, clean, and beautiful stone jetty, worthy of any rich mediterranean city. Nainativu is notable (saying “famous” would be outrageous out here), for having a Buddhist and a Hindu point of pilgrimage both, this far to the north in Sri Lanka. Unusually for me, I skipped an ice cream, and headed towards a cacophony (usually means the local Hindu temple is performing poya, offerings to a god, usually happens several times per day, to the sound of deafening bells in multitudes); what I found instead, was so much more. Sri Lankan hindu temples are outrageously colorful, often adorned with figures from tales and legends, both friendly and scary. In front of the temple, dedicated to the naga goddes Meenakshi, a consort of Shiva, is a massive gopuram, sort of like a wedge with steps, pointy end up, also covered with figures, painted in bright colours and visible from far away. Inside, the temple was crammed full of people, all in the midst of praying; while holy men were busy uncovering a large idol (which I assume was of Meenakshi), with wooden poles underneath for four bearers. Then, just as I had entered the temple and looked around, a priest used a conch as a horn, and blew a long, deep, and sombre note. Drums started banging, wooden torches on fire were waved around, flowers petals were thrown in the air covering the idol; and then this whole ceremony turned into a procession, walking around the temple (they’re usually large and rectangular, with the main altar in the centre), praying loudly, beating the drums harder and harder. Making full circle, through the throng of worshippers, women in saris, men topless, the idol was packed away, and powder was handed out to worshippers, standing in surprisingly orderly lines, to make bindis. After the ceremony was over, everybody were handed banana leaves, after which priests came around, ladling a thick goopy rice concoction. At which point, the celebration turned into a feast; hundreds of merry people, on a small strip of of sandy island, at the far edge of the country, trying to hear each other over children playing, roaring laughter, and teenagers trying to be somewhere between coy, and the party centre of the island.
Zoom Info
I recently wrote at length about banned photography; how certain places, often religious sites here in Asia, ban photography outright, but also how that lends more of a mystique to certain places; today I crossed that line, by leaps and bounds. I’m in Sri Lanka, more specifically on Nainativu, one of the Jaffna islands in the far north, one of the Tamil strongholds (in fact, yesterday I visited the childhood village of Vellupillai Prabhakaran), where the dominant religion is Hinduism. It’s not a long way from Jaffna city, which isn’t exactly the centre of civilization (anymore). An hours worth of busdriving takes you from low lying city, dotted with clutches of palm trees, temples, churches, and ruins; (the civil war was fierce here), and out across causeways to white sandy islands, covered in palm trees, inhabited by countless cows, and dotted with outrageously multicoloured temples. Out here, where government oversight seems too troublesome to bother with, where people just look after themselves, I found myself at noon in Kurikadduwan (I get to sleep in every day), staring at a jetty, a small wooden boat and a group of Tamils, in lifejackets, looking seasick before they had even climbed into the boat, rocking along on turquoise water under a clear blue sky as well as a scorching hot sun. Reaching my destination after a short, but deafening half hour ride, I disembarked on a long, clean, and beautiful stone jetty, worthy of any rich mediterranean city. Nainativu is notable (saying “famous” would be outrageous out here), for having a Buddhist and a Hindu point of pilgrimage both, this far to the north in Sri Lanka. Unusually for me, I skipped an ice cream, and headed towards a cacophony (usually means the local Hindu temple is performing poya, offerings to a god, usually happens several times per day, to the sound of deafening bells in multitudes); what I found instead, was so much more. Sri Lankan hindu temples are outrageously colorful, often adorned with figures from tales and legends, both friendly and scary. In front of the temple, dedicated to the naga goddes Meenakshi, a consort of Shiva, is a massive gopuram, sort of like a wedge with steps, pointy end up, also covered with figures, painted in bright colours and visible from far away. Inside, the temple was crammed full of people, all in the midst of praying; while holy men were busy uncovering a large idol (which I assume was of Meenakshi), with wooden poles underneath for four bearers. Then, just as I had entered the temple and looked around, a priest used a conch as a horn, and blew a long, deep, and sombre note. Drums started banging, wooden torches on fire were waved around, flowers petals were thrown in the air covering the idol; and then this whole ceremony turned into a procession, walking around the temple (they’re usually large and rectangular, with the main altar in the centre), praying loudly, beating the drums harder and harder. Making full circle, through the throng of worshippers, women in saris, men topless, the idol was packed away, and powder was handed out to worshippers, standing in surprisingly orderly lines, to make bindis. After the ceremony was over, everybody were handed banana leaves, after which priests came around, ladling a thick goopy rice concoction. At which point, the celebration turned into a feast; hundreds of merry people, on a small strip of of sandy island, at the far edge of the country, trying to hear each other over children playing, roaring laughter, and teenagers trying to be somewhere between coy, and the party centre of the island.
Zoom Info
I recently wrote at length about banned photography; how certain places, often religious sites here in Asia, ban photography outright, but also how that lends more of a mystique to certain places; today I crossed that line, by leaps and bounds. I’m in Sri Lanka, more specifically on Nainativu, one of the Jaffna islands in the far north, one of the Tamil strongholds (in fact, yesterday I visited the childhood village of Vellupillai Prabhakaran), where the dominant religion is Hinduism. It’s not a long way from Jaffna city, which isn’t exactly the centre of civilization (anymore). An hours worth of busdriving takes you from low lying city, dotted with clutches of palm trees, temples, churches, and ruins; (the civil war was fierce here), and out across causeways to white sandy islands, covered in palm trees, inhabited by countless cows, and dotted with outrageously multicoloured temples. Out here, where government oversight seems too troublesome to bother with, where people just look after themselves, I found myself at noon in Kurikadduwan (I get to sleep in every day), staring at a jetty, a small wooden boat and a group of Tamils, in lifejackets, looking seasick before they had even climbed into the boat, rocking along on turquoise water under a clear blue sky as well as a scorching hot sun. Reaching my destination after a short, but deafening half hour ride, I disembarked on a long, clean, and beautiful stone jetty, worthy of any rich mediterranean city. Nainativu is notable (saying “famous” would be outrageous out here), for having a Buddhist and a Hindu point of pilgrimage both, this far to the north in Sri Lanka. Unusually for me, I skipped an ice cream, and headed towards a cacophony (usually means the local Hindu temple is performing poya, offerings to a god, usually happens several times per day, to the sound of deafening bells in multitudes); what I found instead, was so much more. Sri Lankan hindu temples are outrageously colorful, often adorned with figures from tales and legends, both friendly and scary. In front of the temple, dedicated to the naga goddes Meenakshi, a consort of Shiva, is a massive gopuram, sort of like a wedge with steps, pointy end up, also covered with figures, painted in bright colours and visible from far away. Inside, the temple was crammed full of people, all in the midst of praying; while holy men were busy uncovering a large idol (which I assume was of Meenakshi), with wooden poles underneath for four bearers. Then, just as I had entered the temple and looked around, a priest used a conch as a horn, and blew a long, deep, and sombre note. Drums started banging, wooden torches on fire were waved around, flowers petals were thrown in the air covering the idol; and then this whole ceremony turned into a procession, walking around the temple (they’re usually large and rectangular, with the main altar in the centre), praying loudly, beating the drums harder and harder. Making full circle, through the throng of worshippers, women in saris, men topless, the idol was packed away, and powder was handed out to worshippers, standing in surprisingly orderly lines, to make bindis. After the ceremony was over, everybody were handed banana leaves, after which priests came around, ladling a thick goopy rice concoction. At which point, the celebration turned into a feast; hundreds of merry people, on a small strip of of sandy island, at the far edge of the country, trying to hear each other over children playing, roaring laughter, and teenagers trying to be somewhere between coy, and the party centre of the island.
Zoom Info
I recently wrote at length about banned photography; how certain places, often religious sites here in Asia, ban photography outright, but also how that lends more of a mystique to certain places; today I crossed that line, by leaps and bounds. I’m in Sri Lanka, more specifically on Nainativu, one of the Jaffna islands in the far north, one of the Tamil strongholds (in fact, yesterday I visited the childhood village of Vellupillai Prabhakaran), where the dominant religion is Hinduism. It’s not a long way from Jaffna city, which isn’t exactly the centre of civilization (anymore). An hours worth of busdriving takes you from low lying city, dotted with clutches of palm trees, temples, churches, and ruins; (the civil war was fierce here), and out across causeways to white sandy islands, covered in palm trees, inhabited by countless cows, and dotted with outrageously multicoloured temples. Out here, where government oversight seems too troublesome to bother with, where people just look after themselves, I found myself at noon in Kurikadduwan (I get to sleep in every day), staring at a jetty, a small wooden boat and a group of Tamils, in lifejackets, looking seasick before they had even climbed into the boat, rocking along on turquoise water under a clear blue sky as well as a scorching hot sun. Reaching my destination after a short, but deafening half hour ride, I disembarked on a long, clean, and beautiful stone jetty, worthy of any rich mediterranean city. Nainativu is notable (saying “famous” would be outrageous out here), for having a Buddhist and a Hindu point of pilgrimage both, this far to the north in Sri Lanka. Unusually for me, I skipped an ice cream, and headed towards a cacophony (usually means the local Hindu temple is performing poya, offerings to a god, usually happens several times per day, to the sound of deafening bells in multitudes); what I found instead, was so much more. Sri Lankan hindu temples are outrageously colorful, often adorned with figures from tales and legends, both friendly and scary. In front of the temple, dedicated to the naga goddes Meenakshi, a consort of Shiva, is a massive gopuram, sort of like a wedge with steps, pointy end up, also covered with figures, painted in bright colours and visible from far away. Inside, the temple was crammed full of people, all in the midst of praying; while holy men were busy uncovering a large idol (which I assume was of Meenakshi), with wooden poles underneath for four bearers. Then, just as I had entered the temple and looked around, a priest used a conch as a horn, and blew a long, deep, and sombre note. Drums started banging, wooden torches on fire were waved around, flowers petals were thrown in the air covering the idol; and then this whole ceremony turned into a procession, walking around the temple (they’re usually large and rectangular, with the main altar in the centre), praying loudly, beating the drums harder and harder. Making full circle, through the throng of worshippers, women in saris, men topless, the idol was packed away, and powder was handed out to worshippers, standing in surprisingly orderly lines, to make bindis. After the ceremony was over, everybody were handed banana leaves, after which priests came around, ladling a thick goopy rice concoction. At which point, the celebration turned into a feast; hundreds of merry people, on a small strip of of sandy island, at the far edge of the country, trying to hear each other over children playing, roaring laughter, and teenagers trying to be somewhere between coy, and the party centre of the island.
Zoom Info
I recently wrote at length about banned photography; how certain places, often religious sites here in Asia, ban photography outright, but also how that lends more of a mystique to certain places; today I crossed that line, by leaps and bounds. I’m in Sri Lanka, more specifically on Nainativu, one of the Jaffna islands in the far north, one of the Tamil strongholds (in fact, yesterday I visited the childhood village of Vellupillai Prabhakaran), where the dominant religion is Hinduism. It’s not a long way from Jaffna city, which isn’t exactly the centre of civilization (anymore). An hours worth of busdriving takes you from low lying city, dotted with clutches of palm trees, temples, churches, and ruins; (the civil war was fierce here), and out across causeways to white sandy islands, covered in palm trees, inhabited by countless cows, and dotted with outrageously multicoloured temples. Out here, where government oversight seems too troublesome to bother with, where people just look after themselves, I found myself at noon in Kurikadduwan (I get to sleep in every day), staring at a jetty, a small wooden boat and a group of Tamils, in lifejackets, looking seasick before they had even climbed into the boat, rocking along on turquoise water under a clear blue sky as well as a scorching hot sun. Reaching my destination after a short, but deafening half hour ride, I disembarked on a long, clean, and beautiful stone jetty, worthy of any rich mediterranean city. Nainativu is notable (saying “famous” would be outrageous out here), for having a Buddhist and a Hindu point of pilgrimage both, this far to the north in Sri Lanka. Unusually for me, I skipped an ice cream, and headed towards a cacophony (usually means the local Hindu temple is performing poya, offerings to a god, usually happens several times per day, to the sound of deafening bells in multitudes); what I found instead, was so much more. Sri Lankan hindu temples are outrageously colorful, often adorned with figures from tales and legends, both friendly and scary. In front of the temple, dedicated to the naga goddes Meenakshi, a consort of Shiva, is a massive gopuram, sort of like a wedge with steps, pointy end up, also covered with figures, painted in bright colours and visible from far away. Inside, the temple was crammed full of people, all in the midst of praying; while holy men were busy uncovering a large idol (which I assume was of Meenakshi), with wooden poles underneath for four bearers. Then, just as I had entered the temple and looked around, a priest used a conch as a horn, and blew a long, deep, and sombre note. Drums started banging, wooden torches on fire were waved around, flowers petals were thrown in the air covering the idol; and then this whole ceremony turned into a procession, walking around the temple (they’re usually large and rectangular, with the main altar in the centre), praying loudly, beating the drums harder and harder. Making full circle, through the throng of worshippers, women in saris, men topless, the idol was packed away, and powder was handed out to worshippers, standing in surprisingly orderly lines, to make bindis. After the ceremony was over, everybody were handed banana leaves, after which priests came around, ladling a thick goopy rice concoction. At which point, the celebration turned into a feast; hundreds of merry people, on a small strip of of sandy island, at the far edge of the country, trying to hear each other over children playing, roaring laughter, and teenagers trying to be somewhere between coy, and the party centre of the island.
Zoom Info
I recently wrote at length about banned photography; how certain places, often religious sites here in Asia, ban photography outright, but also how that lends more of a mystique to certain places; today I crossed that line, by leaps and bounds. I’m in Sri Lanka, more specifically on Nainativu, one of the Jaffna islands in the far north, one of the Tamil strongholds (in fact, yesterday I visited the childhood village of Vellupillai Prabhakaran), where the dominant religion is Hinduism. It’s not a long way from Jaffna city, which isn’t exactly the centre of civilization (anymore). An hours worth of busdriving takes you from low lying city, dotted with clutches of palm trees, temples, churches, and ruins; (the civil war was fierce here), and out across causeways to white sandy islands, covered in palm trees, inhabited by countless cows, and dotted with outrageously multicoloured temples. Out here, where government oversight seems too troublesome to bother with, where people just look after themselves, I found myself at noon in Kurikadduwan (I get to sleep in every day), staring at a jetty, a small wooden boat and a group of Tamils, in lifejackets, looking seasick before they had even climbed into the boat, rocking along on turquoise water under a clear blue sky as well as a scorching hot sun. Reaching my destination after a short, but deafening half hour ride, I disembarked on a long, clean, and beautiful stone jetty, worthy of any rich mediterranean city. Nainativu is notable (saying “famous” would be outrageous out here), for having a Buddhist and a Hindu point of pilgrimage both, this far to the north in Sri Lanka. Unusually for me, I skipped an ice cream, and headed towards a cacophony (usually means the local Hindu temple is performing poya, offerings to a god, usually happens several times per day, to the sound of deafening bells in multitudes); what I found instead, was so much more. Sri Lankan hindu temples are outrageously colorful, often adorned with figures from tales and legends, both friendly and scary. In front of the temple, dedicated to the naga goddes Meenakshi, a consort of Shiva, is a massive gopuram, sort of like a wedge with steps, pointy end up, also covered with figures, painted in bright colours and visible from far away. Inside, the temple was crammed full of people, all in the midst of praying; while holy men were busy uncovering a large idol (which I assume was of Meenakshi), with wooden poles underneath for four bearers. Then, just as I had entered the temple and looked around, a priest used a conch as a horn, and blew a long, deep, and sombre note. Drums started banging, wooden torches on fire were waved around, flowers petals were thrown in the air covering the idol; and then this whole ceremony turned into a procession, walking around the temple (they’re usually large and rectangular, with the main altar in the centre), praying loudly, beating the drums harder and harder. Making full circle, through the throng of worshippers, women in saris, men topless, the idol was packed away, and powder was handed out to worshippers, standing in surprisingly orderly lines, to make bindis. After the ceremony was over, everybody were handed banana leaves, after which priests came around, ladling a thick goopy rice concoction. At which point, the celebration turned into a feast; hundreds of merry people, on a small strip of of sandy island, at the far edge of the country, trying to hear each other over children playing, roaring laughter, and teenagers trying to be somewhere between coy, and the party centre of the island.
Zoom Info
I recently wrote at length about banned photography; how certain places, often religious sites here in Asia, ban photography outright, but also how that lends more of a mystique to certain places; today I crossed that line, by leaps and bounds. I’m in Sri Lanka, more specifically on Nainativu, one of the Jaffna islands in the far north, one of the Tamil strongholds (in fact, yesterday I visited the childhood village of Vellupillai Prabhakaran), where the dominant religion is Hinduism. It’s not a long way from Jaffna city, which isn’t exactly the centre of civilization (anymore). An hours worth of busdriving takes you from low lying city, dotted with clutches of palm trees, temples, churches, and ruins; (the civil war was fierce here), and out across causeways to white sandy islands, covered in palm trees, inhabited by countless cows, and dotted with outrageously multicoloured temples. Out here, where government oversight seems too troublesome to bother with, where people just look after themselves, I found myself at noon in Kurikadduwan (I get to sleep in every day), staring at a jetty, a small wooden boat and a group of Tamils, in lifejackets, looking seasick before they had even climbed into the boat, rocking along on turquoise water under a clear blue sky as well as a scorching hot sun. Reaching my destination after a short, but deafening half hour ride, I disembarked on a long, clean, and beautiful stone jetty, worthy of any rich mediterranean city. Nainativu is notable (saying “famous” would be outrageous out here), for having a Buddhist and a Hindu point of pilgrimage both, this far to the north in Sri Lanka. Unusually for me, I skipped an ice cream, and headed towards a cacophony (usually means the local Hindu temple is performing poya, offerings to a god, usually happens several times per day, to the sound of deafening bells in multitudes); what I found instead, was so much more. Sri Lankan hindu temples are outrageously colorful, often adorned with figures from tales and legends, both friendly and scary. In front of the temple, dedicated to the naga goddes Meenakshi, a consort of Shiva, is a massive gopuram, sort of like a wedge with steps, pointy end up, also covered with figures, painted in bright colours and visible from far away. Inside, the temple was crammed full of people, all in the midst of praying; while holy men were busy uncovering a large idol (which I assume was of Meenakshi), with wooden poles underneath for four bearers. Then, just as I had entered the temple and looked around, a priest used a conch as a horn, and blew a long, deep, and sombre note. Drums started banging, wooden torches on fire were waved around, flowers petals were thrown in the air covering the idol; and then this whole ceremony turned into a procession, walking around the temple (they’re usually large and rectangular, with the main altar in the centre), praying loudly, beating the drums harder and harder. Making full circle, through the throng of worshippers, women in saris, men topless, the idol was packed away, and powder was handed out to worshippers, standing in surprisingly orderly lines, to make bindis. After the ceremony was over, everybody were handed banana leaves, after which priests came around, ladling a thick goopy rice concoction. At which point, the celebration turned into a feast; hundreds of merry people, on a small strip of of sandy island, at the far edge of the country, trying to hear each other over children playing, roaring laughter, and teenagers trying to be somewhere between coy, and the party centre of the island.
Zoom Info

I recently wrote at length about banned photography; how certain places, often religious sites here in Asia, ban photography outright, but also how that lends more of a mystique to certain places; today I crossed that line, by leaps and bounds.

I’m in Sri Lanka, more specifically on Nainativu, one of the Jaffna islands in the far north, one of the Tamil strongholds (in fact, yesterday I visited the childhood village of Vellupillai Prabhakaran), where the dominant religion is Hinduism.

It’s not a long way from Jaffna city, which isn’t exactly the centre of civilization (anymore). An hours worth of busdriving takes you from low lying city, dotted with clutches of palm trees, temples, churches, and ruins; (the civil war was fierce here), and out across causeways to white sandy islands, covered in palm trees, inhabited by countless cows, and dotted with outrageously multicoloured temples.

Out here, where government oversight seems too troublesome to bother with, where people just look after themselves, I found myself at noon in Kurikadduwan (I get to sleep in every day), staring at a jetty, a small wooden boat and a group of Tamils, in lifejackets, looking seasick before they had even climbed into the boat, rocking along on turquoise water under a clear blue sky as well as a scorching hot sun.

Reaching my destination after a short, but deafening half hour ride, I disembarked on a long, clean, and beautiful stone jetty, worthy of any rich mediterranean city.

Nainativu is notable (saying “famous” would be outrageous out here), for having a Buddhist and a Hindu point of pilgrimage both, this far to the north in Sri Lanka.

Unusually for me, I skipped an ice cream, and headed towards a cacophony (usually means the local Hindu temple is performing poya, offerings to a god, usually happens several times per day, to the sound of deafening bells in multitudes); what I found instead, was so much more.

Sri Lankan hindu temples are outrageously colorful, often adorned with figures from tales and legends, both friendly and scary. In front of the temple, dedicated to the naga goddes Meenakshi, a consort of Shiva, is a massive gopuram, sort of like a wedge with steps, pointy end up, also covered with figures, painted in bright colours and visible from far away.

Inside, the temple was crammed full of people, all in the midst of praying; while holy men were busy uncovering a large idol (which I assume was of Meenakshi), with wooden poles underneath for four bearers. Then, just as I had entered the temple and looked around, a priest used a conch as a horn, and blew a long, deep, and sombre note.

Drums started banging, wooden torches on fire were waved around, flowers petals were thrown in the air covering the idol; and then this whole ceremony turned into a procession, walking around the temple (they’re usually large and rectangular, with the main altar in the centre), praying loudly, beating the drums harder and harder.

Making full circle, through the throng of worshippers, women in saris, men topless, the idol was packed away, and powder was handed out to worshippers, standing in surprisingly orderly lines, to make bindis.

After the ceremony was over, everybody were handed banana leaves, after which priests came around, ladling a thick goopy rice concoction. At which point, the celebration turned into a feast; hundreds of merry people, on a small strip of of sandy island, at the far edge of the country, trying to hear each other over children playing, roaring laughter, and teenagers trying to be somewhere between coy, and the party centre of the island.

On the top of Little Adam’s Peak, Ella Rock in the background, deep in the Hill Country of Sri Lanka.
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On the top of Little Adam’s Peak, Ella Rock in the background, deep in the Hill Country of Sri Lanka.

I’ve been watching a lot of news lately, and it makes me sadder than it usually does. My beloved Bangladesh is in trouble; once the shock of the factory collapse had subsided, the hartals and streetfighting resumed, this time with more fervor than before. I fell in love with a lush and green country, and it tears me, to watch it fight itself. I fell in love with busrides through fields, farmers working under the sun, children playing by the roadsides and markets around the busstops in villages. I found people so friendly, it got on my nerves, and damaged my calm (at no fault of theirs, only mine). Everywhere I went, I was greeted with smiles, handshakes, curiosity, and laughing children. It gets a bit much, 24/7, but I cannot fault their enthusiasm for foreigners, this is a country where you’re undoubtedly welcome. One experience that will forever be with me, was the honeycomb hunting trip in the Sundarbans. Never before had I had such an experience; and I don’t expect to see its like anytime soon, it’s the sort of experience that’s rapidly disappearing from planet Earth. But Bangladesh is still very untouched, except for my Sundarbans trip (and a visit to the Danish embassy), I never met a single foreigner. Though it’s low season, and a time of political strife, I think it’s remarkable; it was a very interesting experience, a very immersive one, even if a bit lonely. So far on this trip, I’ve visited: China, North Korea, Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, Thailand, Myanmar, Nepal, India, Bangladesh, Singapore, and Sri Lanka. And from this list, for anyone looking for an original time and a selfmade adventure, nothing beats Bangladesh.
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I’ve been watching a lot of news lately, and it makes me sadder than it usually does. My beloved Bangladesh is in trouble; once the shock of the factory collapse had subsided, the hartals and streetfighting resumed, this time with more fervor than before.

I fell in love with a lush and green country, and it tears me, to watch it fight itself. I fell in love with busrides through fields, farmers working under the sun, children playing by the roadsides and markets around the busstops in villages.

I found people so friendly, it got on my nerves, and damaged my calm (at no fault of theirs, only mine). Everywhere I went, I was greeted with smiles, handshakes, curiosity, and laughing children. It gets a bit much, 24/7, but I cannot fault their enthusiasm for foreigners, this is a country where you’re undoubtedly welcome.

One experience that will forever be with me, was the honeycomb hunting trip in the Sundarbans. Never before had I had such an experience; and I don’t expect to see its like anytime soon, it’s the sort of experience that’s rapidly disappearing from planet Earth.

But Bangladesh is still very untouched, except for my Sundarbans trip (and a visit to the Danish embassy), I never met a single foreigner. Though it’s low season, and a time of political strife, I think it’s remarkable; it was a very interesting experience, a very immersive one, even if a bit lonely.

So far on this trip, I’ve visited: China, North Korea, Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, Thailand, Myanmar, Nepal, India, Bangladesh, Singapore, and Sri Lanka. And from this list, for anyone looking for an original time and a selfmade adventure, nothing beats Bangladesh.

I spent a day in the sun, getting burned as red as a boiled lobster, certainly my neck looks more appetizing if you’re into shellfish. I went out trekking around Bandarban, a city in the hills, as mountainous as Bangladesh gets, visiting villages of primarily the Marma tribe. This region was immediately familiar, as there were buddhisy monks around, the stupas were in the same design as the ones in Myanmar, and in fact, many people liked like they were Myanma, including the sandy facepaint. When I got really roasted, it was because I didn’t get back to Bandarban fast enough, but instead, decided to walk off in another direction, hitting upon the Sangu river, and walking downstream in the river (nice and cool).
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I spent a day in the sun, getting burned as red as a boiled lobster, certainly my neck looks more appetizing if you’re into shellfish. I went out trekking around Bandarban, a city in the hills, as mountainous as Bangladesh gets, visiting villages of primarily the Marma tribe. This region was immediately familiar, as there were buddhisy monks around, the stupas were in the same design as the ones in Myanmar, and in fact, many people liked like they were Myanma, including the sandy facepaint. When I got really roasted, it was because I didn’t get back to Bandarban fast enough, but instead, decided to walk off in another direction, hitting upon the Sangu river, and walking downstream in the river (nice and cool).
Zoom Info
I spent a day in the sun, getting burned as red as a boiled lobster, certainly my neck looks more appetizing if you’re into shellfish. I went out trekking around Bandarban, a city in the hills, as mountainous as Bangladesh gets, visiting villages of primarily the Marma tribe. This region was immediately familiar, as there were buddhisy monks around, the stupas were in the same design as the ones in Myanmar, and in fact, many people liked like they were Myanma, including the sandy facepaint. When I got really roasted, it was because I didn’t get back to Bandarban fast enough, but instead, decided to walk off in another direction, hitting upon the Sangu river, and walking downstream in the river (nice and cool).
Zoom Info
I spent a day in the sun, getting burned as red as a boiled lobster, certainly my neck looks more appetizing if you’re into shellfish. I went out trekking around Bandarban, a city in the hills, as mountainous as Bangladesh gets, visiting villages of primarily the Marma tribe. This region was immediately familiar, as there were buddhisy monks around, the stupas were in the same design as the ones in Myanmar, and in fact, many people liked like they were Myanma, including the sandy facepaint. When I got really roasted, it was because I didn’t get back to Bandarban fast enough, but instead, decided to walk off in another direction, hitting upon the Sangu river, and walking downstream in the river (nice and cool).
Zoom Info
I spent a day in the sun, getting burned as red as a boiled lobster, certainly my neck looks more appetizing if you’re into shellfish. I went out trekking around Bandarban, a city in the hills, as mountainous as Bangladesh gets, visiting villages of primarily the Marma tribe. This region was immediately familiar, as there were buddhisy monks around, the stupas were in the same design as the ones in Myanmar, and in fact, many people liked like they were Myanma, including the sandy facepaint. When I got really roasted, it was because I didn’t get back to Bandarban fast enough, but instead, decided to walk off in another direction, hitting upon the Sangu river, and walking downstream in the river (nice and cool).
Zoom Info
I spent a day in the sun, getting burned as red as a boiled lobster, certainly my neck looks more appetizing if you’re into shellfish. I went out trekking around Bandarban, a city in the hills, as mountainous as Bangladesh gets, visiting villages of primarily the Marma tribe. This region was immediately familiar, as there were buddhisy monks around, the stupas were in the same design as the ones in Myanmar, and in fact, many people liked like they were Myanma, including the sandy facepaint. When I got really roasted, it was because I didn’t get back to Bandarban fast enough, but instead, decided to walk off in another direction, hitting upon the Sangu river, and walking downstream in the river (nice and cool).
Zoom Info

I spent a day in the sun, getting burned as red as a boiled lobster, certainly my neck looks more appetizing if you’re into shellfish.

I went out trekking around Bandarban, a city in the hills, as mountainous as Bangladesh gets, visiting villages of primarily the Marma tribe. This region was immediately familiar, as there were buddhisy monks around, the stupas were in the same design as the ones in Myanmar, and in fact, many people liked like they were Myanma, including the sandy facepaint.

When I got really roasted, it was because I didn’t get back to Bandarban fast enough, but instead, decided to walk off in another direction, hitting upon the Sangu river, and walking downstream in the river (nice and cool).

I came to Natore to see the nearby town of Puthia, strewn with old temples, mosques and ruins. Alas, a hartal was on, so busses didn’t run, and rickshaws were in hiding, in fact, the whole place felt closed (which to be fair, is what strikes are about). Undeterred, I asked the receptionist if he knew anyone with a motorcycle who’d drive me, for a fee of course. While I went to sort out traintickets for the following day (because Bangla trains are awesome, and always run), he found someone, and I was introduced to Babu. Babu was a healthy looking gentleman, portly I guess, with a red motorcycle… Mounting his steed, we raced to Puthia, stopping only for passing thunderstorms, and buying sweets for children (and me). In Puthia, the first obligation, was to stop for tea and biscuits, and being introduced to everyone from the area (when accompanied by a local, the attention is the same, but they all try conversing instead of staring). The people to greet me, included my guide for the day, an older gentleman, who walked me around the corner, and started the tour with the Shiva temple; all the statues sadly defaced by Pakistani troops in 1971, a running theme. For the rest of the midday and afternoon, Babu would drive us around, taking in the sights, ruins, temples and mosques. At one of the mosques, waiting till prayertime was over, I signed their guestbook, as the first foreigner since the middle of February. I visited Puthia on April 24, one of the highlights of Bangladesh, in all the guidebooks I’ve read. After a wonderful and tiring day, we stopped for very late lunch and some friendly talk, which sadly took a nasty turn. Unfortunately, the guide asked for my choice of religion (or lack thereof), and got so upset, he refused payment. After late lunch, which Babu paid for, like everything else during the day (any attempt by me, was met by loud protests), he took me on a private tour of Puthia, taking me to meet his father and uncle-in-law (a lot more tea), respectively the town’s most prominent businessman, and the region’s leader for the biggest political party; followed by a visit to his friends. At the end of the day, I was dropped by my hotel in Natore, after a free day in Babus company; ready for an evening of reading and eating candy (no Babu).
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I came to Natore to see the nearby town of Puthia, strewn with old temples, mosques and ruins. Alas, a hartal was on, so busses didn’t run, and rickshaws were in hiding, in fact, the whole place felt closed (which to be fair, is what strikes are about).

Undeterred, I asked the receptionist if he knew anyone with a motorcycle who’d drive me, for a fee of course. While I went to sort out traintickets for the following day (because Bangla trains are awesome, and always run), he found someone, and I was introduced to Babu.

Babu was a healthy looking gentleman, portly I guess, with a red motorcycle… Mounting his steed, we raced to Puthia, stopping only for passing thunderstorms, and buying sweets for children (and me).

In Puthia, the first obligation, was to stop for tea and biscuits, and being introduced to everyone from the area (when accompanied by a local, the attention is the same, but they all try conversing instead of staring). The people to greet me, included my guide for the day, an older gentleman, who walked me around the corner, and started the tour with the Shiva temple; all the statues sadly defaced by Pakistani troops in 1971, a running theme.

For the rest of the midday and afternoon, Babu would drive us around, taking in the sights, ruins, temples and mosques. At one of the mosques, waiting till prayertime was over, I signed their guestbook, as the first foreigner since the middle of February. I visited Puthia on April 24, one of the highlights of Bangladesh, in all the guidebooks I’ve read.

After a wonderful and tiring day, we stopped for very late lunch and some friendly talk, which sadly took a nasty turn. Unfortunately, the guide asked for my choice of religion (or lack thereof), and got so upset, he refused payment.

After late lunch, which Babu paid for, like everything else during the day (any attempt by me, was met by loud protests), he took me on a private tour of Puthia, taking me to meet his father and uncle-in-law (a lot more tea), respectively the town’s most prominent businessman, and the region’s leader for the biggest political party; followed by a visit to his friends.

At the end of the day, I was dropped by my hotel in Natore, after a free day in Babus company; ready for an evening of reading and eating candy (no Babu).

I got shipwrecked today, nothing less should describe it. A local boatsman, abandoning me to my cruel fate, dropped me off on a char, a silt island, and quickly departed. To my great misfortune, I soon discovered that the island was uninhabited (the poorest of poor Bangladeshi farmers often make their home on chars), that I was low on water, and that trees don’t grow in silt, so no shade. After wandering the island, generally in the direction of the larger and inhabited char, I caught the attention of a fisherman, who come ashore, and saved me from my horrendous fate. In earnest, I could have swum ashore, leaving my camera behind, and picking it up later. But it was an entertaining though, being stuck somewhere that no-one comes, even if no danger was present. I did have an amazing day in total. I arrived early in Sariankandi, and quickly gathered a following, quite unlike anywhere else in Bangladesh, visitors must be very rare. Attracted by the loud music, I was invited into the local school, and given the seat of honour at their yearly celebration with singing, and girls in pretty dresses. Excusing myself, I went to the ghat (sort of like a pier), and hired a boatsman to take me across, who instead took me to the opposite bank. No matter, I engaged a second boatsman, who dropped me off on a deserted island. Having wandered around it for nigh upon an hour, I got picked up by a fisherman, and taken to the main char. There I spent an hour and half walking around, visiting the small villages (5 or so families each), doing my best to communicate with the locals, who were either very wary of me, or incredibly excited to have foreign visitors. It was a fantastic place, and it’ll be with me for a long time, in an already very authentic country, this place felt even more authentic. These people live of what they grow in the silt, build their houses from what grows on the island, and cook in clayovens built into the ground. If you’re going to Bangladesh, so far the “musts” are Sundarbands, Srimangal and the chars by Bogra. I hope I’ll be adding more places in the next few days, I don’t have much time left in Bangladesh, but I’m very determined to come back.
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I got shipwrecked today, nothing less should describe it. A local boatsman, abandoning me to my cruel fate, dropped me off on a char, a silt island, and quickly departed. To my great misfortune, I soon discovered that the island was uninhabited (the poorest of poor Bangladeshi farmers often make their home on chars), that I was low on water, and that trees don’t grow in silt, so no shade. After wandering the island, generally in the direction of the larger and inhabited char, I caught the attention of a fisherman, who come ashore, and saved me from my horrendous fate. In earnest, I could have swum ashore, leaving my camera behind, and picking it up later. But it was an entertaining though, being stuck somewhere that no-one comes, even if no danger was present. I did have an amazing day in total. I arrived early in Sariankandi, and quickly gathered a following, quite unlike anywhere else in Bangladesh, visitors must be very rare. Attracted by the loud music, I was invited into the local school, and given the seat of honour at their yearly celebration with singing, and girls in pretty dresses. Excusing myself, I went to the ghat (sort of like a pier), and hired a boatsman to take me across, who instead took me to the opposite bank. No matter, I engaged a second boatsman, who dropped me off on a deserted island. Having wandered around it for nigh upon an hour, I got picked up by a fisherman, and taken to the main char. There I spent an hour and half walking around, visiting the small villages (5 or so families each), doing my best to communicate with the locals, who were either very wary of me, or incredibly excited to have foreign visitors. It was a fantastic place, and it’ll be with me for a long time, in an already very authentic country, this place felt even more authentic. These people live of what they grow in the silt, build their houses from what grows on the island, and cook in clayovens built into the ground. If you’re going to Bangladesh, so far the “musts” are Sundarbands, Srimangal and the chars by Bogra. I hope I’ll be adding more places in the next few days, I don’t have much time left in Bangladesh, but I’m very determined to come back.
Zoom Info
I got shipwrecked today, nothing less should describe it. A local boatsman, abandoning me to my cruel fate, dropped me off on a char, a silt island, and quickly departed. To my great misfortune, I soon discovered that the island was uninhabited (the poorest of poor Bangladeshi farmers often make their home on chars), that I was low on water, and that trees don’t grow in silt, so no shade. After wandering the island, generally in the direction of the larger and inhabited char, I caught the attention of a fisherman, who come ashore, and saved me from my horrendous fate. In earnest, I could have swum ashore, leaving my camera behind, and picking it up later. But it was an entertaining though, being stuck somewhere that no-one comes, even if no danger was present. I did have an amazing day in total. I arrived early in Sariankandi, and quickly gathered a following, quite unlike anywhere else in Bangladesh, visitors must be very rare. Attracted by the loud music, I was invited into the local school, and given the seat of honour at their yearly celebration with singing, and girls in pretty dresses. Excusing myself, I went to the ghat (sort of like a pier), and hired a boatsman to take me across, who instead took me to the opposite bank. No matter, I engaged a second boatsman, who dropped me off on a deserted island. Having wandered around it for nigh upon an hour, I got picked up by a fisherman, and taken to the main char. There I spent an hour and half walking around, visiting the small villages (5 or so families each), doing my best to communicate with the locals, who were either very wary of me, or incredibly excited to have foreign visitors. It was a fantastic place, and it’ll be with me for a long time, in an already very authentic country, this place felt even more authentic. These people live of what they grow in the silt, build their houses from what grows on the island, and cook in clayovens built into the ground. If you’re going to Bangladesh, so far the “musts” are Sundarbands, Srimangal and the chars by Bogra. I hope I’ll be adding more places in the next few days, I don’t have much time left in Bangladesh, but I’m very determined to come back.
Zoom Info
I got shipwrecked today, nothing less should describe it. A local boatsman, abandoning me to my cruel fate, dropped me off on a char, a silt island, and quickly departed. To my great misfortune, I soon discovered that the island was uninhabited (the poorest of poor Bangladeshi farmers often make their home on chars), that I was low on water, and that trees don’t grow in silt, so no shade. After wandering the island, generally in the direction of the larger and inhabited char, I caught the attention of a fisherman, who come ashore, and saved me from my horrendous fate. In earnest, I could have swum ashore, leaving my camera behind, and picking it up later. But it was an entertaining though, being stuck somewhere that no-one comes, even if no danger was present. I did have an amazing day in total. I arrived early in Sariankandi, and quickly gathered a following, quite unlike anywhere else in Bangladesh, visitors must be very rare. Attracted by the loud music, I was invited into the local school, and given the seat of honour at their yearly celebration with singing, and girls in pretty dresses. Excusing myself, I went to the ghat (sort of like a pier), and hired a boatsman to take me across, who instead took me to the opposite bank. No matter, I engaged a second boatsman, who dropped me off on a deserted island. Having wandered around it for nigh upon an hour, I got picked up by a fisherman, and taken to the main char. There I spent an hour and half walking around, visiting the small villages (5 or so families each), doing my best to communicate with the locals, who were either very wary of me, or incredibly excited to have foreign visitors. It was a fantastic place, and it’ll be with me for a long time, in an already very authentic country, this place felt even more authentic. These people live of what they grow in the silt, build their houses from what grows on the island, and cook in clayovens built into the ground. If you’re going to Bangladesh, so far the “musts” are Sundarbands, Srimangal and the chars by Bogra. I hope I’ll be adding more places in the next few days, I don’t have much time left in Bangladesh, but I’m very determined to come back.
Zoom Info
I got shipwrecked today, nothing less should describe it. A local boatsman, abandoning me to my cruel fate, dropped me off on a char, a silt island, and quickly departed. To my great misfortune, I soon discovered that the island was uninhabited (the poorest of poor Bangladeshi farmers often make their home on chars), that I was low on water, and that trees don’t grow in silt, so no shade. After wandering the island, generally in the direction of the larger and inhabited char, I caught the attention of a fisherman, who come ashore, and saved me from my horrendous fate. In earnest, I could have swum ashore, leaving my camera behind, and picking it up later. But it was an entertaining though, being stuck somewhere that no-one comes, even if no danger was present. I did have an amazing day in total. I arrived early in Sariankandi, and quickly gathered a following, quite unlike anywhere else in Bangladesh, visitors must be very rare. Attracted by the loud music, I was invited into the local school, and given the seat of honour at their yearly celebration with singing, and girls in pretty dresses. Excusing myself, I went to the ghat (sort of like a pier), and hired a boatsman to take me across, who instead took me to the opposite bank. No matter, I engaged a second boatsman, who dropped me off on a deserted island. Having wandered around it for nigh upon an hour, I got picked up by a fisherman, and taken to the main char. There I spent an hour and half walking around, visiting the small villages (5 or so families each), doing my best to communicate with the locals, who were either very wary of me, or incredibly excited to have foreign visitors. It was a fantastic place, and it’ll be with me for a long time, in an already very authentic country, this place felt even more authentic. These people live of what they grow in the silt, build their houses from what grows on the island, and cook in clayovens built into the ground. If you’re going to Bangladesh, so far the “musts” are Sundarbands, Srimangal and the chars by Bogra. I hope I’ll be adding more places in the next few days, I don’t have much time left in Bangladesh, but I’m very determined to come back.
Zoom Info
I got shipwrecked today, nothing less should describe it. A local boatsman, abandoning me to my cruel fate, dropped me off on a char, a silt island, and quickly departed. To my great misfortune, I soon discovered that the island was uninhabited (the poorest of poor Bangladeshi farmers often make their home on chars), that I was low on water, and that trees don’t grow in silt, so no shade. After wandering the island, generally in the direction of the larger and inhabited char, I caught the attention of a fisherman, who come ashore, and saved me from my horrendous fate. In earnest, I could have swum ashore, leaving my camera behind, and picking it up later. But it was an entertaining though, being stuck somewhere that no-one comes, even if no danger was present. I did have an amazing day in total. I arrived early in Sariankandi, and quickly gathered a following, quite unlike anywhere else in Bangladesh, visitors must be very rare. Attracted by the loud music, I was invited into the local school, and given the seat of honour at their yearly celebration with singing, and girls in pretty dresses. Excusing myself, I went to the ghat (sort of like a pier), and hired a boatsman to take me across, who instead took me to the opposite bank. No matter, I engaged a second boatsman, who dropped me off on a deserted island. Having wandered around it for nigh upon an hour, I got picked up by a fisherman, and taken to the main char. There I spent an hour and half walking around, visiting the small villages (5 or so families each), doing my best to communicate with the locals, who were either very wary of me, or incredibly excited to have foreign visitors. It was a fantastic place, and it’ll be with me for a long time, in an already very authentic country, this place felt even more authentic. These people live of what they grow in the silt, build their houses from what grows on the island, and cook in clayovens built into the ground. If you’re going to Bangladesh, so far the “musts” are Sundarbands, Srimangal and the chars by Bogra. I hope I’ll be adding more places in the next few days, I don’t have much time left in Bangladesh, but I’m very determined to come back.
Zoom Info
I got shipwrecked today, nothing less should describe it. A local boatsman, abandoning me to my cruel fate, dropped me off on a char, a silt island, and quickly departed. To my great misfortune, I soon discovered that the island was uninhabited (the poorest of poor Bangladeshi farmers often make their home on chars), that I was low on water, and that trees don’t grow in silt, so no shade. After wandering the island, generally in the direction of the larger and inhabited char, I caught the attention of a fisherman, who come ashore, and saved me from my horrendous fate. In earnest, I could have swum ashore, leaving my camera behind, and picking it up later. But it was an entertaining though, being stuck somewhere that no-one comes, even if no danger was present. I did have an amazing day in total. I arrived early in Sariankandi, and quickly gathered a following, quite unlike anywhere else in Bangladesh, visitors must be very rare. Attracted by the loud music, I was invited into the local school, and given the seat of honour at their yearly celebration with singing, and girls in pretty dresses. Excusing myself, I went to the ghat (sort of like a pier), and hired a boatsman to take me across, who instead took me to the opposite bank. No matter, I engaged a second boatsman, who dropped me off on a deserted island. Having wandered around it for nigh upon an hour, I got picked up by a fisherman, and taken to the main char. There I spent an hour and half walking around, visiting the small villages (5 or so families each), doing my best to communicate with the locals, who were either very wary of me, or incredibly excited to have foreign visitors. It was a fantastic place, and it’ll be with me for a long time, in an already very authentic country, this place felt even more authentic. These people live of what they grow in the silt, build their houses from what grows on the island, and cook in clayovens built into the ground. If you’re going to Bangladesh, so far the “musts” are Sundarbands, Srimangal and the chars by Bogra. I hope I’ll be adding more places in the next few days, I don’t have much time left in Bangladesh, but I’m very determined to come back.
Zoom Info
I got shipwrecked today, nothing less should describe it. A local boatsman, abandoning me to my cruel fate, dropped me off on a char, a silt island, and quickly departed. To my great misfortune, I soon discovered that the island was uninhabited (the poorest of poor Bangladeshi farmers often make their home on chars), that I was low on water, and that trees don’t grow in silt, so no shade. After wandering the island, generally in the direction of the larger and inhabited char, I caught the attention of a fisherman, who come ashore, and saved me from my horrendous fate. In earnest, I could have swum ashore, leaving my camera behind, and picking it up later. But it was an entertaining though, being stuck somewhere that no-one comes, even if no danger was present. I did have an amazing day in total. I arrived early in Sariankandi, and quickly gathered a following, quite unlike anywhere else in Bangladesh, visitors must be very rare. Attracted by the loud music, I was invited into the local school, and given the seat of honour at their yearly celebration with singing, and girls in pretty dresses. Excusing myself, I went to the ghat (sort of like a pier), and hired a boatsman to take me across, who instead took me to the opposite bank. No matter, I engaged a second boatsman, who dropped me off on a deserted island. Having wandered around it for nigh upon an hour, I got picked up by a fisherman, and taken to the main char. There I spent an hour and half walking around, visiting the small villages (5 or so families each), doing my best to communicate with the locals, who were either very wary of me, or incredibly excited to have foreign visitors. It was a fantastic place, and it’ll be with me for a long time, in an already very authentic country, this place felt even more authentic. These people live of what they grow in the silt, build their houses from what grows on the island, and cook in clayovens built into the ground. If you’re going to Bangladesh, so far the “musts” are Sundarbands, Srimangal and the chars by Bogra. I hope I’ll be adding more places in the next few days, I don’t have much time left in Bangladesh, but I’m very determined to come back.
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I got shipwrecked today, nothing less should describe it. A local boatsman, abandoning me to my cruel fate, dropped me off on a char, a silt island, and quickly departed. To my great misfortune, I soon discovered that the island was uninhabited (the poorest of poor Bangladeshi farmers often make their home on chars), that I was low on water, and that trees don’t grow in silt, so no shade. After wandering the island, generally in the direction of the larger and inhabited char, I caught the attention of a fisherman, who come ashore, and saved me from my horrendous fate. In earnest, I could have swum ashore, leaving my camera behind, and picking it up later. But it was an entertaining though, being stuck somewhere that no-one comes, even if no danger was present. I did have an amazing day in total. I arrived early in Sariankandi, and quickly gathered a following, quite unlike anywhere else in Bangladesh, visitors must be very rare. Attracted by the loud music, I was invited into the local school, and given the seat of honour at their yearly celebration with singing, and girls in pretty dresses. Excusing myself, I went to the ghat (sort of like a pier), and hired a boatsman to take me across, who instead took me to the opposite bank. No matter, I engaged a second boatsman, who dropped me off on a deserted island. Having wandered around it for nigh upon an hour, I got picked up by a fisherman, and taken to the main char. There I spent an hour and half walking around, visiting the small villages (5 or so families each), doing my best to communicate with the locals, who were either very wary of me, or incredibly excited to have foreign visitors. It was a fantastic place, and it’ll be with me for a long time, in an already very authentic country, this place felt even more authentic. These people live of what they grow in the silt, build their houses from what grows on the island, and cook in clayovens built into the ground. If you’re going to Bangladesh, so far the “musts” are Sundarbands, Srimangal and the chars by Bogra. I hope I’ll be adding more places in the next few days, I don’t have much time left in Bangladesh, but I’m very determined to come back.
Zoom Info
I got shipwrecked today, nothing less should describe it. A local boatsman, abandoning me to my cruel fate, dropped me off on a char, a silt island, and quickly departed. To my great misfortune, I soon discovered that the island was uninhabited (the poorest of poor Bangladeshi farmers often make their home on chars), that I was low on water, and that trees don’t grow in silt, so no shade. After wandering the island, generally in the direction of the larger and inhabited char, I caught the attention of a fisherman, who come ashore, and saved me from my horrendous fate. In earnest, I could have swum ashore, leaving my camera behind, and picking it up later. But it was an entertaining though, being stuck somewhere that no-one comes, even if no danger was present. I did have an amazing day in total. I arrived early in Sariankandi, and quickly gathered a following, quite unlike anywhere else in Bangladesh, visitors must be very rare. Attracted by the loud music, I was invited into the local school, and given the seat of honour at their yearly celebration with singing, and girls in pretty dresses. Excusing myself, I went to the ghat (sort of like a pier), and hired a boatsman to take me across, who instead took me to the opposite bank. No matter, I engaged a second boatsman, who dropped me off on a deserted island. Having wandered around it for nigh upon an hour, I got picked up by a fisherman, and taken to the main char. There I spent an hour and half walking around, visiting the small villages (5 or so families each), doing my best to communicate with the locals, who were either very wary of me, or incredibly excited to have foreign visitors. It was a fantastic place, and it’ll be with me for a long time, in an already very authentic country, this place felt even more authentic. These people live of what they grow in the silt, build their houses from what grows on the island, and cook in clayovens built into the ground. If you’re going to Bangladesh, so far the “musts” are Sundarbands, Srimangal and the chars by Bogra. I hope I’ll be adding more places in the next few days, I don’t have much time left in Bangladesh, but I’m very determined to come back.
Zoom Info

I got shipwrecked today, nothing less should describe it. A local boatsman, abandoning me to my cruel fate, dropped me off on a char, a silt island, and quickly departed. To my great misfortune, I soon discovered that the island was uninhabited (the poorest of poor Bangladeshi farmers often make their home on chars), that I was low on water, and that trees don’t grow in silt, so no shade. After wandering the island, generally in the direction of the larger and inhabited char, I caught the attention of a fisherman, who come ashore, and saved me from my horrendous fate.

In earnest, I could have swum ashore, leaving my camera behind, and picking it up later. But it was an entertaining though, being stuck somewhere that no-one comes, even if no danger was present.

I did have an amazing day in total. I arrived early in Sariankandi, and quickly gathered a following, quite unlike anywhere else in Bangladesh, visitors must be very rare. Attracted by the loud music, I was invited into the local school, and given the seat of honour at their yearly celebration with singing, and girls in pretty dresses.

Excusing myself, I went to the ghat (sort of like a pier), and hired a boatsman to take me across, who instead took me to the opposite bank. No matter, I engaged a second boatsman, who dropped me off on a deserted island. Having wandered around it for nigh upon an hour, I got picked up by a fisherman, and taken to the main char.

There I spent an hour and half walking around, visiting the small villages (5 or so families each), doing my best to communicate with the locals, who were either very wary of me, or incredibly excited to have foreign visitors. It was a fantastic place, and it’ll be with me for a long time, in an already very authentic country, this place felt even more authentic. These people live of what they grow in the silt, build their houses from what grows on the island, and cook in clayovens built into the ground.

If you’re going to Bangladesh, so far the “musts” are Sundarbands, Srimangal and the chars by Bogra. I hope I’ll be adding more places in the next few days, I don’t have much time left in Bangladesh, but I’m very determined to come back.

I’m in Srimangal, it’s in north eastern Bangladesh, the tea growing district of the country. I rented a bicycle, and spent the day bicycling around the countryside, meeting teapickers, schoolchildren and mechanics, as well as a lot of other wonderful people, that didn’t get a photo here.
Zoom Info
I’m in Srimangal, it’s in north eastern Bangladesh, the tea growing district of the country. I rented a bicycle, and spent the day bicycling around the countryside, meeting teapickers, schoolchildren and mechanics, as well as a lot of other wonderful people, that didn’t get a photo here.
Zoom Info
I’m in Srimangal, it’s in north eastern Bangladesh, the tea growing district of the country. I rented a bicycle, and spent the day bicycling around the countryside, meeting teapickers, schoolchildren and mechanics, as well as a lot of other wonderful people, that didn’t get a photo here.
Zoom Info
I’m in Srimangal, it’s in north eastern Bangladesh, the tea growing district of the country. I rented a bicycle, and spent the day bicycling around the countryside, meeting teapickers, schoolchildren and mechanics, as well as a lot of other wonderful people, that didn’t get a photo here.
Zoom Info
I’m in Srimangal, it’s in north eastern Bangladesh, the tea growing district of the country. I rented a bicycle, and spent the day bicycling around the countryside, meeting teapickers, schoolchildren and mechanics, as well as a lot of other wonderful people, that didn’t get a photo here.
Zoom Info
I’m in Srimangal, it’s in north eastern Bangladesh, the tea growing district of the country. I rented a bicycle, and spent the day bicycling around the countryside, meeting teapickers, schoolchildren and mechanics, as well as a lot of other wonderful people, that didn’t get a photo here.
Zoom Info
I’m in Srimangal, it’s in north eastern Bangladesh, the tea growing district of the country. I rented a bicycle, and spent the day bicycling around the countryside, meeting teapickers, schoolchildren and mechanics, as well as a lot of other wonderful people, that didn’t get a photo here.
Zoom Info
I’m in Srimangal, it’s in north eastern Bangladesh, the tea growing district of the country. I rented a bicycle, and spent the day bicycling around the countryside, meeting teapickers, schoolchildren and mechanics, as well as a lot of other wonderful people, that didn’t get a photo here.
Zoom Info

I’m in Srimangal, it’s in north eastern Bangladesh, the tea growing district of the country. I rented a bicycle, and spent the day bicycling around the countryside, meeting teapickers, schoolchildren and mechanics, as well as a lot of other wonderful people, that didn’t get a photo here.

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